


Makeshift

by thenoodlesaresalty



Category: Original Work
Genre: Child Death, Corpses, Gore, Horror, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Surgery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenoodlesaresalty/pseuds/thenoodlesaresalty
Summary: Deep in the forests of England lives a has-been surgeon intended on keeping himself alive, even if it means defying the dead.





	Makeshift

Ah, the sweet smell of formaldehyde, it truly never grows old. I feel around for the pen and grab it, shaking it a bit to get the ink to flow down to the tip.  _ Macey _ . A well-loved girl… I think. There were many flowers around her tombstone; a few pink roses were all over her grave, it took me a while to even read her name. Her head is flawed, as most things are; with several chipped teeth, an infection deep within her throat, and clumps of hair missing. Luckily, I found her body only  _ two  _ days after her death; a fresh corpse is greatly ideal for my… goal. I take the clamps out, closing her mouth and taking a few clumps into my hand. Ischemic heart disease killed her, as shown by the constricted arteries connected to her heart that now sits on my desk. A shame really; her heart could have benefited me greatly.

I open up the jar and carefully place her head inside, quickly closing it tight. Ripping the tape from the roll, I stick it onto the jar, making sure none of the corners come off. Scooting the other jars to the side, I place sweet Macey right onto my shelf. “There we go, love. A spot with a view of the sun, just  _ for you _ .” I smile wide and take off my surgical mask. “And,” I turn the jar labeled ‘Anthony’ to face her. “you have a  _ friend _ !” Wiping my hands onto my trousers, I admire my collection. Heads, hands, eyes; I practically have it all. I take off my gloves and mask, tossing them aside, which exposes my skin to the bacteria. “Okay, my darling donors,” I put both my arms behind my back, smiling wide. “I must take care of more  _ important _ matters. Stay lovely!” I slink out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I examine my face, running my finger over the various stitches that keep my lovely face intact. I look down and notice my finger. Feeling a tad curious, I open the drawer on my desk and pull out a tweezer, scissors, and a few cotton swabs. I snatch a small bottle of rubbing alcohol from my grand number of antiseptics. Rushing over to the sink, I begin preparing a small pot of hot water. I watch as the water rushes down in an almost endless stream. Once it finishes, I remove the pot and place it on top of my small, adorable stove. Soon, it comes to a rapid boil, and I soak the towel in it. I clean the spot with the sutures, making sure to get  _ every single _ spot, and I finish by using the rubbing alcohol covered swabs and getting those  _ hard-to-reach  _ areas. I feel satisfied with the cleaning and pick up the tweezers. Slowly, I pull up the second knot and cut it swiftly with the scissors. I repeat this process with every single suture, which causes the finger to fall off.

It plops down onto the ground without a care in the world. I roll my eyes, walking into my donor room again. “Hello, lovely donors! I have returned for a quick second!” I head over to the finger collection and grab one at random. I go back to my operating room and continue in my operation. I rinse the area with the water, humming a simple tune as I do so. Looking at the bone in the finger, I notice that the bones don’t align. I groan and slide my chair over to my supply cabinet, combing through until I find a small saw. Grinding on the bone and lining it up with my own until I have a decent match. “Good, you’ve cooperated.” I slide back over and turn on the microscope, placing my stub and the finger. I then prepare to do a  _ microscopic surgery _ , one of my specialties I’m told, and reattach the veins and nerves.

And once  **_that_ ** is finally finished, I sigh and stitch it together. Obviously, I cannot move it, but soon Dr. Hayes will be able to…  _ point  _ once more! 


End file.
